You Can't Win 'Em All
by BookQ36
Summary: When Hogan and Lebeau are in Paris on a mission Art For Hogan's Sake, Season 2 an urgent call comes in from the Underground, and the remaining members of Hogan's team have to rescue an agent from Gestapo HQ. Can they do it without Hogan's help? Be advised, this isn't a puppies and rainbows story. Bad things happen to good people. *ON HIATUS WHILE I WORK ON MY BTVS STORY*
1. Two Men Short

1

LeBeau and Hogan came out of the barracks. It was early evening, not yet totally dark, and even though sunset had mostly faded from the sky and night rollcall had long since passed, none of the guards took notice. They also ignored the fact that each man wore civilian clothes and LeBeau carried a suitcase.

That afternoon, Burkhalter had rolled into camp in his staffcar, bringing with him a present for Reichmarshall Goering, Manet's masterpiece 'The Boy With the Fife'. He had stolen it from the Louvre on his last trip to Paris, and now he gave it to Klink for safekeeping until the Reichmarshall's birthday. Unknown to the two officers, LeBeau had been eavesdropping outside the office on the pretense of cleaning windows, and as soon as both Germans left the office – and the painting – unattended, the small patriot had climbed in through the window and removed Manet's painting from it's frame.

Predictably, Klink had thrown a fit once it was discovered missing, and as it was his habit to spread foul moods around, less than an hour later Hogan stalked into barracks 2, unzipping his coat as he threw a glare around his command crew.

He had assigned LeBeau to listen in on Klink's conversation with the general since their coffee-pot bug was on the fritz. He knew that LeBeau had stolen the painting, but he didn't blame the corporal. On the contrary, Hogan sympathized with him, but he couldn't afford to let every outrage that the germans comitted get to him. In sabotage and espionage, the worst thing an agent could do is draw attention to themself, and by stealing the painting, LeBeau might as well have aimed a searchlight right at their operation.

After getting a lecture from Hogan, and some teasing from the other guys, LeBeau reluctantly gave up the painting. He handed it over to Hogan, fully expecting that the colonel would bring it straight back to Klink. He was prepared to go along and take the blame for stealing it, no matter how much time in the cooler Klink decided to punish him with, since he knew that Hogan would be able to reduce his sentence.

Hogan took the painting, turning towards the door. The colonel was reaching for the door knob when he suddenly stopped, pulling up so quickly that LeBeau nearly ran into him. The wheels in Hogan's mind had been turning…

Why give it up so easily? They had something in their hands which was extremely valuable, nevermind if one of his men had stolen it. Why not try to use it to their own advantage?

They had convinced Klink that LeBeau destroyed Manet's painting, and given how dire Burkhalter's threats had been if anything happened to the masterpiece – death by firing squad – Klink was easily talked into letting Hogan and LeBeau go to Paris to have the painting copied.

Of course, their real mission wasn't saving Klink's skin. The painting hadn't been harmed, since Hogan was using it as his ticket to France. Their mission was to scout German anti-aircraft units, troop movements and fortifications between Dusseldorf an Paris, or as Hogan pronounced it "Par-ee."

His men had all thought he was crazy, but sure enough, now he and LeBeau were standing in the compound, wearing civvies and looking at Klink's staffcar. It had been parked outside the main camp building for the express purpose of driving the men out of Germany.

Kinch followed them out into the compound, buttoning up his jacket against the cold night air.

"The painting and the uniform are under the backseat of the car, colonel."

Hogan nodded his understanding while fixing the belt of his white trench coat. "Right, Kinch. Mind the store 'till we get back".

The tall sergeant nodded. "Right, will do… good luck."

Lebeau turned around, sticking out his hand for the other man to shake. "Goodbye, Kinch. We'll send you a postcard."

After the handshake, Kinch put his hand back in his pants pocket and smiled at LeBeau's back as the corporal hurried towards the car. "Yeah, you do that, buddy."

Across the yard, a staffcar sat in front of the building which housed Klink's office. Klink exited the building, followed by Schultz, and they both walked over to stand by the car.

LeBeau and Klink saluted each other at the car, the German looking like he'd just bit into a raw lemon as the Frenchman opened the staffcar door.

Hogan walked over too and Kilnk shook the other colonel's hand. "Good luck, Hogan."

Schultz came around from behind Klink and stood in front of him with his hand extended, hoping to receive some sort of well-wishing from his kommandant. Klink started to reach out, about to shake the sargeant's hand, but he caught himself in mid-motion and made to slap Schultz's hand away. Schultz sighed, settling for giving Klink a salute. The German colonel returned the salute and Schultz clambered into the staffcar, with LeBeau pushing him from behind to make sure the large guard actually got in.

Kinch stood outside the barracks, watching everything and hoping that Hogan's latest scheme would work without a hitch.

Klink closed the door after LeBeau, gesturing to the driver, Corporal Langensheidt, to drive off. He stared after the car, praying that by some miracle Hogan would return with a flawless copy of the painting and General Burkhalter would never know the difference. After watching the camp gates swing open for the car, the kommandant's gaze fell on Kinch still standing outside in the yard. His eyes narrowed and he gestured emphatically with one arm, the other keeping his riding crop firmly planted against his side.

"All prisoners are confined to the barracks after night rollcall! Schnell!"

"Alright kommandant. I'm going."

Klink went "mmpft!", apparently not satisfied that the prisoner Kinchloe was hurrying fast enough.

Kinch held up his hands in token of acceptance and headed back to the barracks door just as the staffcar passed through the gate. "Enjoy your freedom, fellas."

Kinch closed the door after himself and almost walked right into Carter. "Hey, Kinch, the colonel get off alright?"

"Yeah, no sweat. I wonder who's gonna be Schultz's replacement, while he's off pretending to be a general."

Olson piped up from his bunk, "I think it's Sergeant Schnieder. I had him when I was in barracks 4." The dark-haired man shrugged. "He's pretty easy."

Carlotti smirked, "plus, the fact that he's our crooked pal from the motorpool doesn't hurt at all."

Kinch sighed. "Good. He's no Schultz, but we have an understanding with him."

The lower bunk clattered open and Newkirk climbed out carrying a slip of paper. "Colonel 'Ogan still 'ere?"

"Nope. Just left for Paris. What's up?"

Newkirk hurried over to the table where Kinch was sitting and put the piece of paper down on the game of solitaire Kinch was starting.

"Bloody charming. Baker just got this from the Underground."

Kinch looked up at him after scanning the message. " 'Underground agent codenamed Magpie being held at Gestapo headquarters in Dusseldorf.' What do they expect us to do?"

Newkirk walked over to the stove and poured himself some coffee. "They want us ta spring 'em tonight."

Kinch's eyes went wide. "Well… we can't do it! We're two men short, the colonel's on the road, and we can't get in touch with him until he reaches Paris."

Newkirk nodded, coming back over to the table and swiping Kinch's cards. "Yeah, an' by then, 'ol Magpie might talk, start namin' names."

Carter shook his head "I don't think so. Heck, it takes more'n a few hours to get someone talking."

Newkirk sighed, glancing at Kinch sadly. "You didn't read the 'ole message, didja?"

Kinch frowned, looking at the paper again. "… Magpie being held at Gestapo headquarters in Dusseldorf along with his daughter, age 5."

The barracks fell silent.

"A little girl?"

Newkirk nodded at Carter, then he went back to staring at the tabletop, tracing the grain of the wood with one fingertip. When he finally spoke, his voice was a low, throaty mutter.

"'Er name's Liesel. 'Er mum's the one 'o sent out the call, askin' anyone an' everyone in the Underground ta help. No one else can 'andle it… so they figured Papa Bear could rescue the little cub." Newkirk leaned forward at the table, hugging himself before letting out a bitter huff. "Too bad 'e's away from the cottage."

Kinch shifted uncomfortably on the bench. "I'd hate to think what they might do to her… or what they might make her watch."

Carlotti and Olson jumped down from their bunks, joining the others at the table. "Do you think they might torture her father in front of her?" Carlotti wondered.

Olson grimaced. "And that's the best case scenario. What if they torture her, and make _him _watch?"

"Boy," Carter shook his head. "That's just… I mean…" he tried to swallow a nasty taste, but found that his mouth had gone completely dry.

"Can you imagine… ruddy beasts." Newkirk growled and started pacing. "Ya get it now, Kinch? If Magpie sees 'is little girl bein' 'urt, he's liable ta tell the goons whatever they want ta know, just so they'll stop 'urtin' 'er!"

"Have we ever had a job with them? I mean," Olson cleared his throat worriedly, "does Magpie know about us?"

He received a scorching glare from Carter. "Does it matter?"

Kinch put himself in Newkirk's way, just in case the Englishman decided to lunge at Olson for worrying about their skins when there was a little girl's safety at stake. "It doesn't matter. We have to at least try. Anyway, we might have just gotten a break. If they'd been caught in Hammelburg, Hochstetter would be the monster in charge, but none of the Dusseldorf SS know us by sight. Newkirk, you and Carter will go in as SS men. You know the routine."

Newkirk nodded. "I'll go down below an' get the uniforms in order."

Kinch patted the corporal's shoulder. "Right, and I'll get to work on papers for the two of you. Carter, bribe the kraut sergeant from the motorpool. The only staffcar in camp isn't available, so get him to let us use the motorcycle with the sidecar."

Olson shook his head. "Truck would be better, since there are gonna be four of you coming back."

Kinch nodded. "Truck it is."

Carter smiled tightly. "I'll have him leave it outside camp on the Hammelburg road."

Newkirk stopped halfway to the tunnel entrance, nervously turning around to face the table again. "An'… if it goes wrong?"

"Then we'll plug into Klink's phone line," Kinch got up from the table and clapped a hand on the corporal's shoulder, slipping into his German accent, "und zhey can expect a call from General Kinchmeyer, Gestapo."

Newkirk grinned, climbing back down into the tunnel, followed closely by the American sergeant.

* * *

_A/N: The first part of this chapter is a recounting of the events of the first seven minutes of the episode 2x16 "Art For Hogan's Sake", followed by a transcription of minutes 9:56 to 10:34 from the same episode. It sets the scene for my story and explains why all the Heroes aren't there, which sets things up for… oops, I almost gave y'all a spoiler. Anywhoo, as the staffcar drives off, my original story starts. I condensed the first bit, but it was painful to do since the dialogue was so darn perfect…I couldn't force myself to omit anything else. All credit for the first half of this goes to Lawrence Marks and Gene Reynolds, who respectively wrote and directed the episode. Please don't sue me if you're related to them! _


	2. Dancing With The Devil

2

Hauptsturmführer Wolfgang Keitel of the SS sat behind his desk at headquarters in Dusseldorf, working his way through a large mound of paperwork. He wasn't sure which he disliked more, clerical duties or listening to the pained yells of suspects while they were being questioned, but he supposed that the tedium of one acted as a counter balance to the… excitement of the other. The whole business of interrogation seemed crude to him, and he would have preferred it if more of the officers used the new wonder-drug he had heard so much about; sodium pentethol. It was purported to be a reliable way of extracting information – and a much quieter one – but he understood that many of the officers derived satisfaction from inflicting pain on enemies of the third Reich and Der Führer, so he kept his opinions to himself.

Earlier that day, two new prisoners had been brought in. He found their cries – particularly those of the little girl – especially difficult to ignore. The high pitch of her voice when she was pleading for the guards to leave her father alone seemed to slice right through his concentration, and he was very glad when, an hour or so later, her screaming finally stopped. The officer in charge of the interrogation came upstairs from the cells some time later and signed out for the night. His uniform was unkempt, which was not surprising, but there were only minute traces of blood on his face and hands. Keitel had been confused by the lack of blood, since he knew that this particular man tended to give the people he interrogated many 'mementos' of their stay with the SS. However, his curiosity was satisfied when he saw part of the man's handkerchief sticking out of his jacket pocket. It was completely soaked with blood. That was several hours ago, and since then, there had been no sound from the cells.

He glanced at the clock, then back at the forms on his desk and ran a hand through his strawberry blond hair. It was just after ten pm, and he was less than halfway done with his paperwork. He sighed heavily, rubbing at his eyes. There was almost no chance that he would be able to finish all the work before his shift ended at midnight, which meant that whatever was still undone when he went home that night would be waiting for him the next evening. At least he could look forward to having sauerbraten at the Hofbrau and flirting with Gerta, the waitress, once he was done for the night. The last time he saw her, she hadn't been able to resist kissing him, even when Heinrich, the restaurant manager, yelled at her to get back to work. Maybe tonight she might even join him at his table…

The sound of two pairs of footsteps echoing down the hallway intruded on his thoughts, and Keitel looked up to see a pair of men coming through the doorway. One man wore rimless spectacles and a dark topcoat without any insignia except for the swastika pin on his tie, and his dark blonde hair was neatly combed to the side in a style reminiscent of der Führer. The other man was in uniform and had untersturmführer insignia on his collar. His brown hair was slightly grey at the temples, he had a neat mustache and he walked behind the other man's left shoulder. Keitel put down his pen and folded his hands on top of the desk as both men came to a halt in front of him.

They both gave crisp, straight-armed salutes, barking in unison "heil Hitler!"

Captain Keitel returned the salute, albeit not as crisply. "Heil Hitler."

The blonde man smiled thinly. "I am Sturmbannführer Von Katz from Berlin, here to retrieve two prisoners captured ziss afternoon."

An envelope was imperiously tossed down onto his desk. Keitel opened it, removing the folded orders from inside and examining them closely. He glanced up at the man standing over his desk. Although his skin was weathered, almost leathery, making him appear older than he actually was, he seemed to be in his early thirties. In order for a man so young to have achieved the rank of sturmbannführer, Keitel knew that he had to be an especially ruthless and efficient officer.

"My orders und aussourization to remove the prisoners you captured ziss afternoon." Major Von Katz looked down at his watch impatiently, then put it back in his pocket and glanced over his shoulder at the soldier standing at rigid attention behind him, seeming to only remember the man's presence upon seeing him. "You may shtand at ease, Berger."

Untersturmführer Berger relaxed his stance instantly, clicking his heel together and replying in a gravelly voice, "Jawol, Herr Sturmbannführer. Danke."

Keitel looked over the papers, scanning the pages for the name of the officer who had ordered the prisoner transfer. "Well," he frowned at the signature, trying to make out the name. "Zis seems to be in order."

Sturmbannführer Von Katz sneered at him, seeming disdainful of the captain's doubt. "Of course it is. Have ze prisoners brought to our car at vonce."

The captain gave a breathy laugh. "No. No, no. I'm afraid zhat is impossible." He carefully placed the papers on his desk and looked up at Von Katz. "I have strict instructions to release ze prisoners only on ze written personal orders of Reichführer Himmler."

Major Von Katz' eyes went wide for a moment and then the sneer returned, his lip curling up. "Are you avare of whose signature is on zeese orders?"

At the same moment that his superior seemed unnerved, Berger glanced sharply at Keitel, but, like Von Katz, he quickly resumed his previous attitude and went back to staring straight ahead. Their unease made Keitel suspicious. It could be that they were merely anxious to carry out their orders, but since the prisoners which they were trying to obtain custody of were suspected of treason, it was also possible, though quite unlikely, that they themselves were enemy agents trying to gain freedom for their comrades.

Kietel sighed, picking up the orders once more and looking for the signatory. He didn't recognize the name, but read it aloud. "Jawol, it is signed by Oberstgruppenführer Rudolph Heffernik, section 4."

Von Katz gave a disgustingly confident smirk. "Vell? Vhen can ve haff ze prisoners?"

Keitel shook his head. Something about these officers just didn't seem right, and although their paperwork appeared legitimate, he had never heard of Heffernik. As a staff officer, he prided himself on being very familiar with SS personnel in greater Germany, and the fact that Heffernik was completely unknown to him set off alarm bells.

He decided that the safest thing for him to do was to follow Himmler's orders, unless he received some very compelling confirmation of the release orders. "My apologies, gentlemen, but I can do nossing for you. Ze Von Shimmels are a very special case. Zhey are closely related to Field Marshall Von Shimmel, a very powerful Wermacht officer on ze Führer's staff, so zhey, und zheir case, must be handled wiss extreme care und discretion. You can imagine vat trouble it could cause if people knew zat the son of such an important officer vas suspected of treason, jah?"

Von Katz shifted uncomfortably, his eyes narrowing as he stared at Keitel's collar insignia, appearing annoyed that a mere hauptsturmführer was upsetting his plans. "I appressiate your position, Herr Hauptsturmführer, und ze sensitive nature of ze case. Ziss is vhy ze prisoners must be brought to Berlin…"

Keitel held up his hand. "Jah, I understand, but first I must confirm zeese orders…"

Von Katz gestured to the telephone, again looking far too confident. "Please do." He slowly removed the leather glove from his right hand by tugging at his gloved fingertips one by one. As he did so, his eyes never strayed from Keitel's face. Keitel found the man's cold blue gaze disconcerting, and he looked down at the phone as he began to dial the reichsführer's office.

"Nein," Von Katz said, causing Keitel's gaze to flick up. "Call _our_ oberstgruppenführer," he reached into his topcoat, pulling out a slip of paper from an inner pocket and handing it over.

Keitel took the slip and dialed the numbers. They seemed familiar somehow, but aside from having a Hammelburg area code, he couldn't recall where he knew them from. As he dialed, he wracked his brain to think of generals who were stationed in or around Hammelburg, but he couldn't remember any who were attached to section 4.

The phone rang twice before a young man's voice picked up the other end of the call. "Oberstgruppenführer Heffernik's headqvarters, Hauptsturmführer Durnits speaking. Heil Hitler."

Keitel sighed. For someone who hated red tape, he seemed unable to aviod it. "Heil Hitler. Ziss is Hauptsturmführer Keitel, Gestapo headqvarters, Dusseldorf. Two officers are here wiss orders for ze transfer of ze Von Schimmels on ze written aussority of Oberstgruppenführer Heffernik."

"Jawol, I vill transfer you to ze general's private line. Eine moment, bitte." Brief silence from the other end, a poorly muffled explanation from Heffernik's aide about the nature of the call, and then a deep, commanding voice spoke. "Oberstgruppenführer Heffernik speaking. Has Sturmbannführer Von Katz arrived yet?"

Keitel glanced at Von Katz. The man was staring at him with that insipid smirk on his face. "Jawol, Herr General. He is here."

"Sehr gut." The note of command in Heffernik's voice was unmistakable. He definitely sounded like a man who was used to being obeyed. "You vill release the prisoners to him."

Suddenly, the room felt much too warm, and Keitel fought the urge to loosen his tie. "But, Herr General-"

"Is zere a problem wiss ze paperwork, hauptsturmführer?"

Keitel shook his head, glancing at Von Katz, perhaps hoping for some assistance in dealing with the general, but the man was no use; he was smirking again. If Keitel wasn't so well-disciplined, he would have rolled his eyes at the officer. "My sincerest apologies, Herr General, but I have strict orders from Reichführer Himmler not to release zem except on his written aussority."

Keitel endured an endless silence before the General said, ever so quietly, "Captain… are you defying me?" His whisper carried more threat than any yell could have.

Keitel swallowed convulsively. He couldn't understand why he had never heard of this Heffernik before, since the man was more than imposing enough to warrant at least some stories among the lower ranks. "Wiss all due respect, Oberstgruppenführer Heffernik, Reichführer Himmler outranks you… and so his orders supercede yours. I mean no disrespect, Herr General. Please, do not take offense."

Heffernik sighed, sounding tired. "Very vell, I shall call ze reichführer und explain ze Führer's orders to him. I vas trying to take care of zis case vissout bossering him, he has enough to vorry about… Zat should solve ze problem-"

Keitel was just about to let out a relieved breath, agreeing with the general's idea when a third voice suddenly broke into the conversation. "Hello?" There was the sound of someone hitting the receiver repeatedly. "Who's on the line?"

Heffernik and Keitel answered almost in unison. "Oberstgruppenführer Heffernik,"

"Hauptsturmführer Keitel, SS headqvarters, Dusseldorf."

Von Katz and Berger shared a confused look. They didn't understand why Keitel had identified himself twice. After a moment, Von Katz stepped forward, leaning both hands on the edge of Keitel's desk and glaring at the man. "Vhat is happening, Keitel?"

Captain Keitel shrugged, stuck between the major who was staring daggers at him, an annoyed and powerful general on the other end of the line, and some unknown person who was intruding on the call. He covered the receiver with his hand, looking up at Von Katz. "Somevon has interrupted ze call. I am finding out who…"

The new voice chimed in again, now sounding nervous. "Oh, hello mein Herren. Were you calling me, sirs?"

"Why vould ve call you? Who are you?" Heffernik sounded angry.

The other voice sounded vaguely familiar to Keitel, but he couldn't quite place it. He narrowed his eyes at the phone. "And… you are?"

"Who am I?" The new voice gave an incredibly nervous laugh. This time, Keitel did roll his eyes. Clearly, whoever this man was, he feared the SS. "I am Colonel Wilhelm Klink, Kommandant of Stalag 13, at your service, sir."

Heffernik growled. "Und vhat are you doing interrupting my call, Herr Klunk?"

Another nervous laugh from Klink. "N-not Klunk, sir, Klink."

"Vell, captain?"

Von Katz glared at Keitel, who stared right back. "Some fool named Klink."

Berger's eyes went wide and he shifted position, moving more into the shadows to hide the fact that one hand was migrating towards his holster.

Meanwhile, the fool in question was stammering an explanation to the general. "I was just trying to contact one of my men who is… on leave at the moment in Paris."

General Heffernik raised his voice slightly, apparently catching on to the fact that subtlety would not accomplish anything with this buffoon. "I do not care who you vere trying to call, or vhy, Klink. Get off the line!" He bellowed the last bit.

Klink could be heard swallowing. "Jawol mein general, and my sincerest apologies for the inconvenience. I'll get off the line at once-"

"Gut." General Heffernik sounded appeased. "I suppose I vill not need to relate this incident to General Burkhalter the next time ve haff lunch."

Klink seemed to have started breathing again. "Yes sir, thank you, sir. You are most gracious, sir-"

Captain Keitel shook his head, almost shouting into the reciever. "Get off the line, you fool! Heil Hitler."

"Heil Hiter." The line clicked off, leaving Heffernik and Keitel alone in the conversation.

Keitel smiled slightly. The moment he heard the words "stalag 13" and "Wilhelm Klink", he knew that his suspicions were at least partially confirmed. That was why he had recognized the phone number; it was the private line of the camp kommandant. Major Hochstetter had ordered that Klink's line be bugged several months before, and Keitel had been one of the men assigned to monitor his calls. When it became evident that the kommandant was not involved in the multiple acts of sabotage being commmited in the vicininty of his camp, the major had been ordered to abandon the project.

Keitel sat back in his chair, relaxing his posture and feeling newly confident. He was no longer intimidated by Herr Heffernik, or whoever was on the other end of the call, but it would not do to let 'Heffernik' know that. If this impostor thought that he had fooled the SS, he was more likely to become careless, and _then_… then Keitel could make a name for himself in front of his superiors.

"Begging your pardon, herr general, but I avait ze results of your conversation wiss Reichführer Himmler. Until zen, Heil Hitler!"

The man calling himself Heffernik seemed calm. "Jawol. I vill be in touch. Heil Hitler."

Keitel leaned forward in his chair and hung up the phone, sitting back in his chair afterwards and lacing his fingers together.

He didn't have enough evidence of wrongdoing to detain the men standing in front of his desk, at least not based on a phone number, but he had no intention of releasing the prisoners to them now. However, if he and another member of the SS overheard these two officers having a suspicious conversation with the prisoners, then he would have his proof.

Berger moved imperceptibly, standing in the light once more at parade rest, and Von Katz narrowed his eyes at the desk officer. "Vell?"

Keitel frowned slightly, realizing that he was coming dangerously close to giving away the ruse by acting so relaxed. "Ze prisoners vill be released to you vonce I have heard back from your general. Until zat time, zey vill remain in ziss building under guard." Keitel held up his hand, aware that Von Katz was about to protest. "However, you may shpeak wiss zem for a few minutes."

Von Katz nodded crisply. "Zat is far from satisfactory, but I suppose it vill haff to do."

Keitel smiled at him, inclining his head respectfully to this man whom he suspected of treason. "I vish I could do more, mein Herr Sturmbannführer. Zere is only so much ve unteroffitziers can do ven ze generals are involved."

The major smiled back, relaxing his stance. "Yah. Ze big boys are alvays fighting among zemselves. If von of your men vill lead us to zeir cells, ve will shpeak to zem."

Keitel was impressed. This man, whoever he was, had just given Keitel a perfect opportunity to have him and his man under surveilance, but Keitel had something else in mind. "Of course, Herr Sturmbannführer, but zey are in a single cell. It is down ze stairs und sird on your right after ze corridor. I vould haff von of my men show you, but ve are shorthanded at ze moment. You understand?"

If the two men were allowed to move about without knowing that they were being discreetly observed, they were more likely to give themselves away as spies. Also, if they said anything to the Von Schimmels which furnished even the barest confirmation of treason on the part of the prisoners, such as a connection to the underground, their case could be closed that very night.

Von Katz clicked his heels together, giving Keitel a respectful nod. "Of course, Herr Keitel. Sank you for you cooperation. Heil Hitler."

Both he and his subordinate gave straight-armed salutes, then they swiftly turned in unison and headed out into the hall. Keitel dialed the phone, keeping one eye on their backs as they left. "Officer of the day, ziss is Hauptsturmführer Keitel. Yah, heil Hitler. Scharführer Holtz, report to me on ze double. I haff a spessial mission for you…"

* * *

_Inspiration for Carter's interactions with the SS desk officer come from 2x06 "The Rise and Fall of Sargeant Schultz", and the gag with Klink picking up his phone line and interrupting the call comes from episode 1x21 "The Great Impersonation". Both episodes were written by Lawrence Marks and directed by Gene Reynolds. I like the way those guys think!_

_SS Ranks (English translation/ US army equivalent) courtesy of .org/wiki/SS_ranks_

Scharführer (Squad Leader/ Sergeant)  
Untersturmführer (Junior Storm Leader/ Second Lieutenant)  
Hauptsturmführer (Chief Storm Leader/ Captain)  
Sturmbannführer (Storm Unit Leader/ Major)  
Oberstgruppenführer (Supreme Group Leader/ General)  
Reichsführer-SS (National Leader/ General of the Army)


	3. The Best Intentions

3

"That was too close," Newkirk whispered, staying a half step behind 'Von Katz' as they descended to the lower floor. The sound of their heavy boots hitting the metal grill-work of each stair easily covered the sound of their voices.

Carter kept his voice low, being careful not to look back at 'Berger' and arouse the suspicion of any guards they might pass. "Yeah, but at least we can see them and talk to them."

Newkirk frowned, doubting that he and Carter would be able to convince the agent that they weren't really SS men, give the man an effective pep-talk _and_ get out of the building without getting thrown into a cell themselves. He flexed his shoulders, making sure that his trusty pencil-sharpener was resting in its sheath between his shoulderblades. The throwing knife wasn't much use against SS rifles, but having it with him was oddly reassuring.

"An' then what? I've got me lock picks an' I could get in the cell easy, but we can't bust 'em outta here, just the two of us. Doin' that's pure suicide. We're gonna need more time to come up with a new plan."

Carter nodded. "I know. We need the colonel."

'Berger' snorted, then caught himself and held his breath, waiting to see if anyone had noticed the sound. When nothing happened, he started whispering again. "Lucky blokes are in Paris, playin' dress-up with Schultz while we do all the heavy lifting..."

A guard stood at the foot of the stairs. As they passed by, he reflexively came to attention, saluting the officers. Carter stayed in character perfectly. He returned the salute without breaking stride or sparing the guard a second look, so he didn't notice when the man leaned out from his post to stare after them.

Newkirk shook his head in disgust, muttering, "an' leave it ta ol' Klink to louse everythin' up by trying ta check up on the guv'nor. Ruddy fool… Do ya think that captain suspected anythin'? 'E seemed pretty sharp for a goon."

They turned down the opressive concrete corridor and started looking for the third cell. The combination of metal doors, concrete walls and floor was bound to amplify any sound they made. As though proving the point, their footsteps echoed loudly up and down the hall. Carter shrugged one shoulder, careful to keep his voice low when he spoke. He was so quiet, in fact, that Newkirk had trouble hearing him.

"I don't think so. But he did act kinda funny on the phone after Klink hung up."

"Yeah," Newkirk nodded, his voice also nearly inaudible. "'e was just a bit too short with the general, not that I normally mind that sort 'a thing... 'Old on, 'ere we are."

As dangerous as it was for them to speak in the hallway, it was even more perilous near the cells, since it was very likely that each dank cell had been bugged. However, since they were familiar with the way that listening devices worked, they knew that low whispers far away from a bug would be hard for someone on the other end to discern. As long as they kept up the appearance of being there on official business, used a normal volume for most of the conversation with Magpie and only slipped out of character to whisper occasionally, they were less likely to give themselves away.

The Englishman squared his shoulders, getting back into character, and rapped on the cell door, using a specific pattern of knocks to identify himself as a member of the underground; two taps, a pause, three quick taps, another pause, and then two slow taps. He knew that verbal identification by codename was too risky, especially since they were in the belly of the SS-beast and guards patrolling the passageway might overhear them.

Almost immediately, they heard movement inside the cell. There was the sound of someone getting up from a cot and a male voice whispering something unintelligible before a set of footsteps came over to the door. Metal scraped on metal as a small panel in the door was pushed aside, revealing a barred opening just at eye-level. The man looking out into the hall had blonde hair, a split lip and a black eye. There was also an ugly looking cut on his temple, surrounded by fresh bruises. He darted rapid glances back and forth between the men standing outside his cell and the small figure sitting on his cot, not sure whether the knocks were being used as recognition code, or if it was just coincidence that the SS man had happened to knock that way.

Newkirk moved aside to let 'Von Katz' do the talking. Carter slipped back into his kraut voice, addressing the frightened face looking out at them. "Herr Erik Von Schimmel, ve are your escorts to Headqvarters in Berlin."

They heard the man swallow nervously, unconsciously looking at 'Bergers' sidearm. Newkirk noticed his gaze and gave him a reassuring wink, chiming in and flashing the V-sign with his right hand, thereby identifying himself as a member of the resistance against the Nazis. "You _are_ Erik Von Schimmel, jah?"

The man nodded, appearing to let out a breath he had been holding. "Jah, jah, ich bein Herr Von Schimmel."

Newkirk smiled, leaning in to whisper in his real voice, "I 'ate to see a bird in a cage."

Erik relaxed, letting out a sigh when he heard that. The phrase 'bird in a cage' was code used by the Dusseldorf underground to mean 'agent being held'. Its use now confirmed for him that these men had been sent by the underground to rescue him and his daughter, and dispelled any lingering doubts he had about their motives.

Carter stood up on his toes, trying to get a better look inside the cell. The boyish movement so typical of the young American sergeant contrasted sharply with his heavily nasal kraut voice. "Und vhere is ze frauline?"

Erik gestured towards part of the cell which wasn't visible through the bars. "She is here, mein Herren." When he moved his hand, they saw that his knuckles were bruised and bloodied. Apparently he had put up a fight at some point, either when he was being captured or later on.

_At least we know 'e's got grit._

Newkirk nodded, respecting the man even more. "Ve vish to see her. Show her to us, schnell."

Despite the horror of his situation, Magpie managed to sound cheerful and reassuring the next time he spoke. "Come here, sweetheart."

Springs from the cot squeaked slightly, signaling that a small amount of weight had shifted off of them, and tiny footsteps hesitantly padded towards the cell door. Erik flashed a smile at Carter, then disappeared from view as he bent down to lift up the little girl. After he straightened up again, Erik leaned away from the opening in the cell door and allowed his rescuers to see the child cradled in his arms.

Carter's eyes went wide and Newkirk uttered a soft "blimey" upon seeing her before he could stop himself. She had light blonde hair tied up in pigtails which almost looked like they were made from spun gold, and when she turned to face them, both men saw that her eyes were a vibrant green. She had a button nose, slightly chubby cheeks streaked with dried tears, and her little mouth looked like a perfect, tiny rosebud.

_She's gonna be quite the looker when she grows up,_ Newkirk's smile faltered. _If she doesn't get marked up by the goons._

His smile slipped even more when the child belatedly recognized his uniform and recoiled from him and Carter, cowering against her father's shoulder in fear. "Papa, why are _they_ here?"

Since he'd joined the RAF, Newkirk had been fighting in the war for many reasons; to protect his country and his family, because he didn't like the Nazis, and sometimes just to survive, but in that moment, something changed for him. Seeing her abject terror really brought home for him the simple truth of why he was fighting the war, and from that point on it wasn't national pride, ideology or self-preservation. He was fighting so that children like Liesel wouldn't have to be afraid of their own government. What the Nazis were doing to other countries was bad enough, but what they were doing to their own people; brainwashing them, turning them into informers or convincing them to lay down their lives on the whim of a madman, really made his blood boil.

Erik shook his head, giving her cheek a soft kiss. "No, Liesel. Zey only look like SS. Zey vould never hurt us."

In the back of his mind, Newkirk knew that Erik might have just made a grave mistake in saying that. True, he was only trying to comfort his child, but if anyone had chanced to hear him, both faux SS men might have just won two all-expense paid tickets to their own cells, with a complimentary interrogation and firing squad… Newkirk forced himself to smile, not wanting to frighten the girl, and tried to shake off the growing feeling of dread.

Liesel blinked curiously, leaning away from her father and trying to get a better look at the men in the hall. As she moved, Erik adjusted his hold, putting a hand on her back to make sure that she wouldn't lose her balance. "So… they only look like bad men?"

One of her dainty hands snaked out between the bars, and Carter obligingly moved closer to let her touch his face. He was completely taken by surprise when she grabbed onto the end of his nose. Carter's eyes went wide and he gave a surprised laugh, slipping back into his own voice. "Hey, don't do that…" He winced afterwards, realizing how loudly he had spoken. If there _was_ bug in the cell, it would definitely have picked up his exclamation.

Newkirk's heart almost stopped, certain that they would give themselves away by accident before the night was through. He silently counted to ten, listening hard to see if Carter's voice had echoed up the hallway. When nothing happened and no guards descended on them, he started to breathe again.

Leisel let her hand drop, smiling sheepishly at him and starting to play with one of her blonde curls. "Sorry, mein Herr."

If the girl wasn't cute enough already, hearing her use the respectful address put it over the top. Carter just melted, grinning at her. "Gosh, sweetie. It's ok."

The little girl twined her arms around Erik's neck, rubbing her cheek into the side of his shoulder. "Daddy, vhen can ve go home? I miss Mama."

"Soon, liebschen," he cooed to her, pressing a soft kiss to her hair. "Soon."

Erik gently put her down after giving her a hug. He moved stiffly, and when Erik bent over, Newkirk got a glimpse of his back. The Englishman saw a couple of tears in the back of the other man's shirt, and fresh whipmarks were visble through the torn fabric. Erik stood up, grimacing at the pain his movement had caused.

Newkirk swallowed, wincing in sympathy. '_Ow much more will the beasts do ta him before we can spring 'im? Will 'e hold out?_

When her feet touched the floor, Liesel grabbed onto her father's pantsleg, twining her fingers in the heavy fabric. Before looking down at her, Erik took a moment to clear the pained expression from his face. He didn't want her to see it and worry. Once it was gone, he gently disentangled her hand and ushered her towards their cot. "Go sit down, liebschen. Papa needs to talk with the nice men." He watched her trudge away from the door, giving a sad little wave to Carter when she passed his line of sight. The young American waved back at her, mustering a smile.

Erik fondly ruffled her hair, turning back to Carter. He whispered urgently "vhat is ze plan?"

They heard booted footsteps, and Newkirk quickly glanced down the hall, his eyes narrowing. A guard came around the corner of the cell block, but instead of coming towards them, he started to climb the stairs. Just to be safe, Newkirk turned around with his back to the cell door and assumed a parade-rest stance, watching out for anyone else who might come down the corridor.

Carter shook his head, slipping out of the accent to whisper, "we can't get you out yet, but we'll try to delay the questioning for a day or so. How are you holding up?"

"I am vell enough." Erik frowned, glancing away from the opening and over at Liesel, who was had just climbed back onto the cot and was fussing with the meager excuse for a pillow, trying to fluff it. After a few seconds, she seemed satisfied with the job she had done and proceeded to hug the thin article to herself, holding it like any frightened child would hold a teddy bear.

Erik's face tightened. "Can you get my daughter out any sooner? Zis is no place for a child."

Newkirk muttered out the side of his mouth "it's no ruddy place for anyone, mate."

Erik nodded in appreciation of Newkirk's comment at the same time as Carter sadly shook his head. Seeing the frightened child sitting in the cold SS cell broke the young man's heart, especially since there wasn't anything they could do to help her or her father. "I'm sorry, buddy, but we can't do anything tonight. Just know that we're workin' on it, and try to hold out as long as you can."

"Jah." Erik sighed in resignation, briefly leaning his forehead against the inside of the cell door until a sudden thought made him jerk up. "How did you know vhere to find us?"

Carter glanced around, worried that their voices might be carrying. He was glad to see that their visit was helping Erik's spirits, but as the agent relaxed, he seemed to forget to keep his voice down. The young American gestured to the German, trying to gently 'shush' the other man. "Your wife sent out an SOS to our friends."

Erik closed his eyes, smiling broadly in relief. "She is safe, zen?"

Newkirk chuckled but he didn't turn around, instead continuing to watch the corridor for any approaching goons. "Safe an' fiesty, mate. I've never 'eard our wireless beep so loudly from an incoming message. Our radioman 'ad trouble keepin' up with 'er."

"Jah," Erik grinned. "Zat sounds like her. How you say, uh… she talks 'a mile a minute'. Vhen she vorks zee radio, I often cannot see her fingers, zey are just a blur." As he thought of his family, the smile quickly faded. "Und…" Erik swallowed nervously, almost dreading the answer to his next question. "Our son? He is safe?"

A footstep coming around the corner made all three men freeze up. Newkirk's heartbeat skyrocketed and he surreptitiously nudged Carter's foot with his own, letting him know that the owner of the footsteps was quickly approaching them. Carter was the first to react, improvising what Von Katz should be saying to the suspected traitor.

"… Und vhat vould you vater say if he saw you in seere? Hmm? Ze son of a Fieldmarshal, suspected of treason." He shook his head, _tsk_-ing to 'Berger'. "Such a shame, jah, Berger? Such a shame…"

The footsteps paused at the end of the hall, then continued on towards the third cell. A cold voice, heavy with menace echoed down the hall. "It is not ze only shame, Mein Herr _Sturmbannführer__ Von Katz_."


	4. Up The Creek

4

Newkirk stood stiffly at attention, eyes locked straight ahead, but he caught a glimpse of the owner of this new voice. It was a man in his early forties with fierce hazel eyes, salt and pepper hair and Oberführer insignia on his collar. He was flanked by two guards, each of them armed with automatic weapons, and another officer followed the three of them, staying a few paces back.

_Bloody 'ell, it's the base kommandant! 'E wouldn't come down 'ere, unless… _Icy sweat started to collect under Newkirk's uniform. _We've 'ad it! Run!_

Somehow, he managed to present a cool exterior to this new threat, remaining at attention as the group came to a halt just a few feet away from Carter. Newkirk sent up a silent prayer that somehow they hadn't been found out, that Kinch had come through and convinced the SS to release the Von Schimmels to them, and the base commander was only there to 'convey his sincerest apologies'.

"I am Oberführer Gunter Stiefer, ze kommandant of zeese headqvarters. I vas vondering, Herr Von Katz…" Stiefer unfolded his hands from the small of his back, brushing his fingers over the wall of the corridor and then rubbing the damp between his thumb and forefinger.

"Jahvol, Herr Kommandant?" Carter did his level best not to stutter, but he couldn't stop his eyes from going wide. Part of his mind, the bit which hadn't completely shut down from fear, told him that his reactions weren't necessarily damning, since an Oberführer was bound to make any subordinate nervous, captains included.

"I vas vondering, Herr Von Katz," Oberführer Stiefer smiled at him, and Carter felt his blood run cold. _Boy, he looks just like the cat that ate the canary… and I'm the canary!_

"How can you shtand to vork viss a flithy Englander?"

Carter blinked, feeling his chest tighten. They were really caught, this time. No way out, no hope if any of these goons had even half a brain. _There is one chance. Just play dumb. Play dumb! _his mind screamed at him. He carefully put on a confused expression, appearing relaxed despite the fact that his heart seemed about to burst. "I do not understand vat you mean, Herr Kommandant. I have never seen an Englander, exshept, of course, at ze movies."

Stiefer smiled at him, inclining his head slightly. "Ah, so?" He shrugged, circling around behind Carter. One of the guards followed his movements and took up a position on the other side of the door, effectively surrounding the two impostors and cutting off any possible avenues of escape.

When Steifer and the guard moved, Newkirk got a glimpse of the other officer, the one who had followed Steifer down to the cells. He was hardly surprised to see that it was Keitel, their friend from the intake desk. The captain stood with both hands behind his back, a smug look playing across his face. In that instant Newkirk knew who had found them out, he just didn't know how the man had done it.

"Vell, I suppose ze Americans do not mind zem so much," Steifer continued, removing his gloves while casually sizing up his prey.

These men were courageous, he gave them that, but to enter SS headquarters and attempt to free prisoners whom he had arrested… and attempting it by disguising themselves as members of the Sicherheitsdienst (1), well, brave or not, he would see to it that their audacity did not go unpunished. Since Von Schimmel was suspected of being a member of the underground, it stood to reason that the men trying to free him were his comrades, and therefore they were likely members of that same disruptive body. What puzzled him, though, was the fact that while these men had put on a good performance for his subordinates, neither one of them was actually German, as members of the underground usually were. True, some members of the underground were French, but most were citizens of the country which they operated in, so he was quietly mystified by the Amerikaner and the Englander standing in front of him. He had hundreds of questions to put to these men, but that could wait until he could deal with them in private. For the moment, he was content to merely goad them into giving themselves away, hoping they would furnish him with more proof of their actual identities.

"After all, your two countries haff so much in common. You are inefficient, undisciplined, und veak." He huffed, stalking back to stand in front of the supposed Untersturmführer Berger, and then staring directly into the man's blue eyes. He stared at 'Berger' for a full minute, taking in the sweat beaded on his brow. The man remained at rigid attention, his eyes staying locked on a spot beyond Steifer's shoulder and not flinching when Steifer leaned in closer with a predatory grin. However, Stiefer didn't miss the fact that the man's pupils dilated when he came closer.

_Ahh, a tell._

Steifer smirked, leaning back once more and swiveling his head to look at the traitor he had arrested just that day. "So, Herr Von Schimmel, you haff not answered ze major's qvestion. Vat _vould_ your vater say if he saw you in zeere?"

Erik, who had been silently rooted to the spot in his cell until that point, did something which perplexed everyone who saw it: he smiled.

"My fasser vould ask who the dumpkopf vas who injured my face."

Newkirk felt his respect for Erik go up another few notches. It was exactly the kind of thing Hogan would say in the same situation. _Ruddy fool knows 'e's 'ad it, so 'e figures 'e might as well get a few good shots in. 'E's probably tryin' ta get the kommandant good an' mad, an' then lure 'im into 'is cell, hopin' to buy us some time so we can get away. 'is little girl might even slip out in the fuss…_

The remark seemed to have the desired effect; Steifer was so enraged by his prisoner's flippant response, he almost appeared to vibrate with rage.

While the Oberführer was focusing on Erik, Newkirk shot Carter a look. The younger man nodded imperceptibly and casually slipped a hand inside his coat, being careful not to look down at what he was doing, since that might make the guards suspicious. The guards watching him only had a partial view of him from the side and behind, and they couldn't see what he was doing. As long as he kept staring straight ahead and Steifer didn't look his way, none of their SS friends would be the wiser. He fumbled around for a frantic minute before his hand closed on a canister concealed at his waist, hoping that Erik would hold the kommandant's attention for just a minute longer. He sucked in his belly, shifting around so that there wouldn't be a noticable bulge under his coat, and located a second canister of the same type. Once he wrapped his fingers around it, reassuring himself that it would stay put, he surreptiously slid his hand out of his jacket and gave Newkirk another tiny nod.

Steifer slapped his gloves against his thigh. "Insolence! I vill not take ziss disrespect from vermin like you." He smoothed himself out a minute later, resuming his quiet, almost playful tone. "Of course, what is von to expect from a mischling(2) such as yourself? You and your filthy little Jewess," he sneered and gestured towards the cell with his gloves before turning away.

"You both belong in zeere."

Erik shook his head at Steifer's back, closing his eyes for a moment before again trying to bait the SS man. "If Germany vere not in ze hands of a madman, I vould not be in zis cell."

It took most of Newkirk's self control to stop from laughing at that. _Blimey, I like this bloke! 'E could give the guv'nor a run for 'is money, 'e's so cheeky. Pity 'e most likely won't last the night. _The last thought drained the mirth right out of the Englishman. _If we 'adn't come, 'e woulda been tortured, no doubt of that, but there's no gurantee 'e would've died before tomorrow. Bloody great rescue mission, this is. The chap we're trying ta save is gonna save _our _skins._

Steifer whirled, his mouth tightening as he glared at Erik. His upper lip twitched, an angry tic he'd developed after the last war. "How dare you say such sings about our beloved Führer!"

Erik glanced over at Liesel sitting on the cot and felt a pang of despair. More than anything, he wanted to go home and be with his wife again. He wanted to see their children grow up, but more and more he was realizing the impossibility of that happening. It was likely that the last thing he would ever see was the inside of his cell and Steifer's sneering face. If by his death he could help these men from the underground get to safety, he was willing to lay down his life. His only regret was that the chances of Liesel escaping safely were almost non-existant. If he was executed… No, _when. _It was a certainty in his mind that he would not live to see sunrise. When he was executed, Liesel's death would follow soon after. He swallowed his grief, steeling himself for what he had to say next. This would most likely be his only chance to tell one of these monsters what he really thought about their leader.

He forced a laugh through his fear and pain. The resulting sound resembled a strangled cough. "Your 'beloved Führer'? If he's so 'beloved', why have zeere been so many attempts, so many threats on his life?"

A cold smile spread over Steifer's face. "Nein, nein, Erik. You vill not provoke me. I vill see to it zat your suffering is long and painful. You vill beg for death at my hand, but I vill not oblige until you haff told me all you know of the underground, all of your contacts' names, every operation you haff been involved in, und how zeese comrades of yours came to haff such convincing disguises und credentials." He inclined his head towards Carter, chuckling lightly. "Having a general in you pocket must be useful, jah?"

Carter blinked, forcing his hands to remain at his sides and not reaching for the smokebombs hidden inside his jacket. He wanted to know how alert the men were who had the automatic weapons trained on him and Newkirk, but he fought the urge to glance over at the guard and instead kept his eyes straight ahead, locked on the cell door. "Herr Oberführer, ve vere following orders. Ze man Captain Keitel spoke viss is our superior, und he ordered us to retrieve ze two prisoners. Zat is all."

Steifer sighed tiredly, shaking his head as he passed behind Carter again, moving through the man's blind spot while he spoke to unnerve him. "Ach, vy do I even bosser asking?" One corner of his mouth quirked up, his eyes sparkling cruelly. "No matter. In time, you vill gladly tell me all you know. About ze underground… about ziss man here…"

Erik shook his head, eyes wide, not needing to pretend that he was afraid. "Vy do you insist zat I am part of ziss underground? Vy do you think zeese men are working wiss me?"

He refocused the fear, using it to his advantage. If he could bait Steifer and make him believe that this was a fruitful line of questioning, it might buy them some time. Erik knew how to lie convincingly, but he also knew how to make the truth seem false. "I haff never seen zem before in my life! Vat even makes you sink zat zey are spies?"

Steifer hooked his thumbs in his belt, looking very pleased with himself as his eyes traveled up and down Newkirk's profile. He was secretly impressed that the man was still standing at attention, despite the scrutiny he was under and the guns aimed his way. It was almost a shame that such a man, with such nerve and discipline, would have to be broken. Steifer knew that it would take time to break the resolve of a man like that, but he looked forward to the challenge. He preferred interrogating subjects who had strong wills, mainly because the mewling of weaker individuals turned his stomach, and also because it afforded him the opportunity to hone his techniques. Fast, easy confessions were all well and good, and yielded the information he required, but ultimately, they were unsatisfying. He found that it was much more fulfilling to destroy a worthy opponent.

"It vas zeire own carelessness zat gave zem avay. Zis von," he gestured at Newkirk with his gloves, the movement causing the leather to make a snapping sound in the air. "He vas foolish enough to vin you over by doing ze V wiss his hand."

Newkirk silently cursed himself for making that gesture, at the same time wondering how Steifer had known about it. _We were alone in the bleedin' hallway. I checked!_

Steifer continued speaking. "I vas also informed by Captain Keitel of his phonecall to your general, und acting on his suspicions, ve listened in on your conversation viss zem by vay of a microphone hidden in your cell, Herr Von Schimmel. Ve heard you say zat zeese men "only look like SS," und shortly after zat, ve heard ze Major exclaim in an American accent. Zey haff Keitel to sank for zeir discovery."

Newkirk glared at Keitel, swearing to himself that someday he would kill the little fink. "Herr Hauptsturmführer Keitel vas alert enough to know zat somesing vas amiss viss ze two of zem, und he assigned a man to discreetly watch zem. Ziss man…"

Steifer made a vague motion with his hand. Keitel stepped forward to stand at his kommandant's elbow and spoke for the first time since he'd come downstairs. He leaned closer to Steifer's side, supplying the man's name. "Scharführer Holtz,"

A smile from Steifer and a slow nod. "Jah, jah. Nein," he waved his hand as an idea came to him. "_Ober_scharführer Holtz. You vill receive a commondation, Keitel… Iron cross, second grade, vill be sufficient, since ziss vas not a combat situation… but Holtz deserves a little somesing too, for his sharp eyes. A schmall promotion vill encourage him to remain alert, jah?"

Keitel nodded tightly. "Jahvol, herr kommandant." He felt cheated. It had been his idea to assign a man to watch the impostors, and Holtz, this nobody he had picked at random, was getting promoted for it. Of course, Keitel knew better than to expect a promotion. After all, it was barely two months ago that he was just an obersturmführer, and hoping to go from first lieutenant to major with less than two months under his belt as a captain was unrealistic. Still, he was an ambitious man, and it ate at him.

"Zeese two…" Steifer indicated Newkirk and Carter, "I shall qvestion personally. Among osser sings, zey vill tell me who zeir tailor is. Your uniforms are superb, Mein Herren. Vherever did you get zem?" He smiled at the two men, leaning in slightly. "Do you know vy my men haff not disarmed you?"

Instead of answering, Newkirk blinked. He heard Carter take in a breath, and he willed the other man not to say anything.

"Nein, Herr Kommandant."

The Englishman let out a breath, relieved that, for once, the American sergeant hadn't put his foot in his mouth.

_Carter's accent 'as gotten better, at least…_

The two guards hemming them in raised their guns slightly, effectively squelching any hope of them even reaching their weapons before being riddled with bullets.

"It is because, even viss guns, you haff no chance against two members of ze elite SS."

A scoff came from the jail cell. "Jah. A man must haff true skill und bravery to torture und murder osser human beings…"

Stiefer turned around slowly, his eyes narrowing. "Vy is it zat you vill not answer my qvestions, but on osser subjects you haff much to say?"

Erik stepped up to the small window in his cell door, gazing steadily at the oberführer. "It is a great mystery. I suppose I am just a complex man."

"Jah," Steifer glanced down and fingered the leather of his gloves, looking back up at Erik mere seconds later. "A mystery I vill haff ze pleasure of unraveling." He nodded to one of the guards. "Unlock ze cell, und someone should bring me my vhip. It is time zat Herr Von Schimmel und I became better aquainted."

When Steifer mentioned the whip, a flash of genuine fear crossed Erik's face. The officer saw it and his eyebrows lifted in happy surprise. "You haff already been vhipped?"

Erik said nothing, but Keitel nodded in confirmation. "Today, Herr kommandant."

Steifer nodded thoughtfully as the guard closer to the keyhole stepped over to the cell door and placed his key in the lock. "Sehr gut. Zen you know how zis vorks. Ze two new prisoners vill be given ze next cell over, so zat zey vill be able to hear vhat lies in store for zem."

The other guard, who had been standing at the ready with his gun behind Carter's right shoulder, used his free hand to grab Carter's arm and forcibly turn him to the left, preparing to march him to the cell Oberführer Steifer had mentioned.

Keitel stood at Steifer's elbow. He still wanted to get more out of the evening than just a second-class citation, and he was trying to think of ways to curry favor with his superior without being too obvious about it. As the guard turned his key in the lock, Keitel had an idea. "If you vish, Herr Kommandant, I vill retrieve your vhip for you."

The cell door opened and Steifer smiled at the younger man before stepping inside. "Danke, Wolfgang."

Keitel clicked his heels together before quickly heading down the hallway, rounding the corner and then mounting the stairs two at a time. Newkirk rolled his eyes during the exchange, but jerked when the guard who had unlocked the cell took hold of his arm and forced him to stand in line with Carter, facing the same direction as the American.

_Any time now, Carter, _he silently prayed._ Any time…_

* * *

1 "Security Service", the intelligence branch of the SS

"_In 1936 the Gestapo—led by Himmler's subordinate, Gruppenführer Heinrich Müller—was joined with the Kriminalpolizei ("Criminal Police") under the umbrella of a new organization, the Sicherheitspolizei (Sipo; "Security Police"). Under a 1939 SS reorganization, the Sipo was joined with the Sicherheitsdienst ("Security Service"), an SS intelligence department, to form the Reichssicherheitshauptamt ("Reich Security Central Office") under Reinhard Heydrich, Himmler's former aide. In this bureaucratic maze, the functions of the Gestapo often overlapped with those of other security departments."_ Info taken from Gestapo, Encyclopædia Britannica Article

2 _Mischling_– "Mixed blood", used in reference to an individual with alleged partial Jewish ancestry (one Jewish Grandparent); some were treated as full-blooded Jews, other as "Aryans" but subject to various legal and social restrictions.

Scharführer = sergeant  
Oberscharführer = staff sergeant.


	5. Escape

5

The guard who seemed to be custodian of the keys unlocked the empty cell next to Erik's, which happened to be closer to the stairs. Once the door was open, he went back to the first cell and followed Steifer inside. He took hold of Erik as he moved further into the cell, and using the butt of his rifle as a club, he roughly forced the prisoner to his knees on the floor in front of Steifer, and then with a swift, practiced motion, he forced Erik's wrists together and handcuffed him.

Erik was silent during the man-handling, with the exception of a quiet grunt when his knees hit the cement floor, and another when the guard's arm applied pressure to some of the open whipmarks on his back. He knew what was coming and had no intention of pleading for mercy. He would not give the SS the satisfaction of making him beg, and in any case, he knew that Steifer was not a man likely to respond to such pleas.

Out of the corner of his eye, Erik saw the guard move out from behind him and stride towards the cot. Liesel was still sitting there, clutching her pillow, but ever since she heard Steifer's voice, she had been carefully edging towards the corner of the cell and trying to make herself as small as possible. Somehow, having her back in the corner and two walls radiating out on either side gave her a feeling of safety. She had watched and listened silently as the conversation out in the hall went from bad to worse, holding the pillow so tightly that sweat from her skin mixed with grime from the pillow and made dirty smudges on her arms.

Her parents had been in the Underground for most of her life, and although she didn't know what words like 'saboteur' and 'treason' meant, Leisel knew that men wearing red armbands were _bad men_, and that if Mama or Papa, or any of their friends were ever taken away by the bad men, they would be hurt. Her throat ached as she watched Papa kneeling on the floor, and she swallowed hard at the sight of his hurt back. When they were whipping him, she had learned that crying didn't do any good. Instead, the bad man had hurt Papa more when she cried, so she hid her face in the pillow and shut her eyes tight, trying to wish away the danger and bad men and Papa's torn shirt.

Now Leisel shrank fearfully into the corner, watching Steifer stand over Papa. She didn't like the bad men. The ones she saw in the hall were nice and they had funny voices, but there weren't _real _bad men. They were just pretending, and they had talked with Papa about getting out. She hoped that they could get out, away from the man standing over Papa. All of the bad men were scary, but he scared her worst of all. He was just so quiet… she never knew if he was angry, so she didn't know when he might hurt her or Papa.

The guard took up a position standing with his back to the cot and his gun trained on Erik, ensuring that the prisoner wouldn't make a move towards the door. The open door technique was a specialty of Steifer's. He enjoyed taunting his prisoners, dangling a chance at freedom just out of their reach while he tortured them, so that their torment would not only be physical, but psychological, too.

Steifer ganced over at the girl. She was between the guard and the cell door, and her father couldn't get a good look at her from where he knelt. Apparently she understood the severity of her situation, but the only indication of her comprehension was the fact that her eyes were slowly getting bigger. Steifer smirked to himself, enjoying her silent terror.

One guard, Sturmmann Schmidt (1), remained in the corridor with the two captured spies. He jabbed the end of his gun between Carter's shoulder blades, at the same time barking "mach schnell!"

With the guard behind him and no one able to see what he was doing with his hands, Carter used the lighter he had fumbled out of his pocket some time before and lit the two smokebombs hidden in his jacket. He coughed, letting Newkirk know that it was done, and taking the cue, the Englishman tripped. Carter, being propelled from behind by the guard, ran into him, and they both stumbled a few steps forward, nearly falling on top of each other.

The guard growled, using one hand to yank Carter upright by the collar of his jacket while he glared at Newkirk. "On your feet, English dog!"

Newkirk made a big show of trying to right himself, and while the guard was focused on him, Carter threw both smoking articles so they landed just inside the doorway of the empty cell and were hidden from view. As soon as the bombs left his hands, Carter moved to help Newkirk, but he intentionally tripped himself up, knowing that there wouldn't be enough smoke to fill the corridor for a least a minute after the bombs had been lit.

"Sorry, mate. Give us a hand up?" Since he had already been pegged as an Englishman, Newkirk used his real voice and accent.

"Of course," Carter offered his hand. "Sorry about knockin' ya down like that."

Both men got up slowly, maneuvering so that the guard wouldn't see the smoke until a good amount had accumulated.

Newkirk paused in dusting himself off and stole a glance at the cell door. He grinned. Smoke was pouring out into the hallway. "No worries, chum."

"Schnell!" The guard started manhandling them towards the cell when he saw the billowing cloud of smoke coming from the doorway. His eyes became huge and his jaw dropped, soundlessly opening and closing before he started to yell. "Achtung! Achtung! Fire!"

The guard took a few steps backwards towards the cell Steifer was in, being careful to keep his gun trained on the prisoners. He chewed his lip, trigger finger itching as he debated with himself whether or not to turn away. Military courtesy demanded that he face a superior officer while addressing them, but he didn't want to risk taking his eyes off of the two men. In the end, he decided to risk a quick glance into the cell at Steifer.

"Herr Kommandant, fire!"

When he looked back again less than a second later, the corridor was empty, and he could hear the sound of footsteps hurrying towards the staircase. "Herr Kommandant, Herr Kommandant, ze prisoners haff escaped!"

Erik felt himself relax. If what he had seen of those agents was anything to go by, they had a good chance of getting away safely. Steifer drew his luger, gesturing with it to the man in the hallway and the guard inside the cell. "After zem! Und call out ze guard. Shoot zem if you haff to, but I vant zem alive!"

The guard inside the cell, newly-promoted Oberscharführer Holtz, clicked his heels together and dashed out into the corridor, falling into step with Schmidt as he moved towards the stairs. Both men coughed as smoke from the bombs burned their throats, trying to blink their vision clear so they could see through the dense cloud which had filled the passageway. Holtz scrubbed at his stinging eyes with one hand, silently cursing whoever had invented smokebombs. Because of the smoke, he couldn't see anything except a thick white haze, but he knew that they were halfway to the base of the stairs.

Steifer growled, throwing a cold glare at Erik. "I did not give your friends enough credit, Mein Herr, but I vill not make ze mishtake of underestimating you. If you haff in fact been telling ze truth, and you know nossing about ze underground, zen I haff no furser use for you." The kommandant lifted his pistol, bringing it up so that the Luger's barrel was aimed at Erik's forehead.

A metallic 'click' echoed around the cell when he took off the safety, and although Steifer smiled while he spoke, his eyes remained cold and hard. "Ov course, if you are indeed involved viss zeese men, zeir organization is far more sophisticated zhan yours, und seerefore, zey are a much rarer prize. Not so?"

Erik swallowed, glancing over at Leisel and forcing a smile at her. He nodded slightly, wishing with every fiber of his being that they could have a more affectionate goodbye. As soon as he could force himself to do it, Erik tore his eyes away from his daughter and, with a tired sigh, lifted his chin until he was staring directly at Steifer.

"Vhat you say is true," Erik let the silence stretch for a few seconds, during which time one corner of his mouth twitched up into a smirk. "If, of course, you can catch zem."

Steifer's lip curled back in a snarl. Von Schimmel would not talk, that much was clear. He could be broken eventually, but Steifer didn't think the man at his feet was worth the trouble. Not when two more valuable prisoners were within his grasp. Without another thought, he once more aimed his pistol at the middle of Erik's forehead and pulled the trigger.

* * *

Out in the hallway, Holtz was having trouble breathing. His lungs seized in a coughing fit, and as he straightened up, he made out a dark shape in the smoke. The shape was moving upwards, and Holtz reasoned that it must be one of the spies climbing the stairs. He came to a halt, aimed, and fired his rifle twice at the shape before resuming his persuit. Schmidt did likewise, even though he hadn't seen anything. To make up for the fact that his sight wasn't as keen as Holtz', he fired three rounds at the stairs.

Since no one had closed the cell door, smoke continued to pour out into the corridor. Some smoke had started rising up the staircase to the upper floor. This made the cloud slightly thinner on the stairs, but it was still dense enough to prevent Holtz and Schmidt from seeing much of anything. As he was mounting the first step, Holtz felt something brush past his leg. He took a step, groping around for whatever it was, and his knee bumped into the railing.

He continued up the stairs, one pace ahead of Schmidt, coughing every so often. The smoke cleared gradually as they moved, and by the time they were at the intake desk, only a few traces of it remained in the air. Holtz slowed, allowing himself a moment to catch his breath before continuing on. Schmidt tipped his head to one side, peering at a smudge on the wall.

"Herr Oberscharführer, blood!"

Holtz headed over to look at Schmidt's find, but a few steps later someone bumped into his shoulder. He turned to see Keitel clutching Steifer's whip and glaring at him. "Vatch vere you are going!"

Holtz snapped to attention. "Jawol, Herr Hauptsturmführer. Ze prisoners haff escaped, und ve are in persuit."

Keitel had heard the rifle blasts when he was looking for the kommandant's whip. He did not want to dissapoint Steifer, so he continued searching until he found the whip hanging at the back of the coat closet. Now, he quickly took in the smudge of blood on the wall and the cloud of smoke snaking up from the lower level.

He nodded. "Sehr gut. See if zey went outside. If zey did, follow zem und stop zem! I vill call out ze guard und haff zem search ze building. Mach schnell!"

The two men snapped off crisp salutes and headed towards the outer door at a jog.

* * *

In the cell, Steifer holstered his gun, casting a distainful glance at the body lying at his feet. He nudged Von Schimmel with the toe of his boot, turning him over until the sightless eyes gazed up at the ceiling.

"Such a vaste…" he shook his head. "All you had to do was be loyal… Vell, mein winzig(2) frauline, you see vhat happened to your papa, und now, my dear, ve haff some time alone togesser."

Receiving no answer, he looked up at the cot. Steifer frowned. The girl was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

1 Sturmmann = Private First Class  
2 German for "tiny"


	6. Blood and Tears

6

Liesel sniffled, scrubbing at her eyes as she ran down the hall. The smoke stung her throat, torturing her breathing.

As soon as the guard had left their cell, she began inching towards the door. She knew that if she could find the nice men, they would help her to save Papa, but first she had to get away. The cot she was stitting on had very squeaky springs, so she could only move a tiny bit at a time, and only when the bad man or Papa was talking so their voices would cover the sound.

Papa's voice echoed in her mind, repeating the last words she had heard him say. "Vhat you say is true… If, of course, you can catch zem."

When he said that, she was at the edge of the bed. She held her breath when he paused and then shut her eyes tightly, trying to be quiet as she slid to the floor. Papa said 'catch' at the same moment that her feet hit the concrete, and she landed softly enough that his word drowned out the soft thump of her shoes. Still clutching her pillow, she tip-toed toward the doorway, and after taking another look at Papa, she crept out into the hall.

Because of the smoke she could barely see, but she followed the sound of running footsteps towards the only exit she knew of; the stairs. Less than a minute later a loud *bang* came from the direction of the cell. She jumped at the noise, hugging her pillow tightly. She hoped that the bad man was just trying to scare Papa with the noise. She started running in the same direction as the other footsteps, but froze when the sound of more gunfire ripped through the smoke.

* * *

Newkirk was taking the stairs two at a time when they heard a gunshot ring out from Von Schimmel's cell. He knew that the agent had most likely just been executed, but he didn't have much time to think about that, because soon afterwards, the guards started shooting at the stairs. Even though he couldn't see a thing, he could hear Carter's footfalls a few steps above him, so he was fairly sure that the other man hadn't been hit. Suddenly Carter grunted, stumbling. Newkirk happened to be reaching for the railing at that very moment, but by a happy accident he caught hold of Carter's arm instead and helped the American regain his balance.

The Brit shook his head, continuing up the stairs without letting go of Carter's arm, all but dragging the other man along. "Blimey! 'Urry up, mate. Hell of a time ta be trippin' over your own feet…" He kept his voice relatively low, not wanting to advertise their location.

Carter frowned, grimacing as he tried to keep up. He moved his hand, shaking Newkirk's forearm since he knew the other man couldn't see his face. "I'm hit." He coughed quietly, leaning on Newkirk as they kept climbing.

Newkirk's blood ran cold. He pulled Carter's arm across his shoulders and wrapped a hand around the younger man's back. "Alright, mate. 'Ow bad?"

Carter shook his head. "Dunno. Its my leg…" He hoped that they were nearly at the top of the stairs, because he wasn't sure if he could keep climbing for much longer.

Newkirk sighed, relieved that his friend hadn't been hit anywhere vital, but still worried about how much this new development would slow them down. "Bloody charming. Lets just try to get back to camp." He grunted, squinting into the smoke. "Wilson'll fix ya up."

The Englishman felt Carter nod against his shoulder and tried to hurry up the stairs, but a feeling a doom settled over Newkirk when a searing pain exploded in his side. He gasped, trying to blink the stars from his vision. Once they had cleared, Newkirk gingerly put a hand to the area, and felt a wet spot spreading on his uniform. "Double bloody charming," he grumbled, pressing his hand over the wound and hissing slightly. "I'm startin' ta think we might be in a spot of trouble, mate."

Carter groaned. "Heck, not you too?"

"Think its just a graze…" He winced, coughing a little. Newkirk was leaning his elbow on the railing as they climbed, so when he felt it end, he knew that they had reached the main floor.

The smoke thinned as they moved away from the stairs, Carter limping badly and leaning on Newkirk, who kept a hand pressed to his side.

Carter veered off to the left, forcing Newkirk to follow him, and they both ended up resting their backs against a wall. The American closed his eyes, sighing. "I gotta rest…"

Newkirk shook his head, taking a moment to look down at his bloody palm. "'Fraid we can't, chum. Our only chance is if we can get to the truck before they find us."

Carter nodded, his pulse speeding up when he heard footfalls on the stairs. He looked down at his torn trouser leg and tried putting some weight on it. Bare moments later, he gritted his teeth and his face went pale, so he shifted back to leaning heavily on Newkirk. He coughed a little, letting his shoulders slouch. "Don't know how fast I can go, though."

Newkirk flashed him a half-hearted grin. "Just try, mate. Think of the story we'll 'ave ta tell the guv'nor when 'e gets back." They pushed off of the wall, heading for the main door, their truck, and relative safety.

* * *

When the shots stopped, Liesel ran towards the stairs. She bumped into someone's leg at the bottom step but continued upwards, climbing as quickly as her tiny legs could. The smoke hurt her chest, so she buried her nose in part of the pillow, breathing through the fabric as she stumbled upwards. The smoke was thinner when she reached the top, and she looked around wildly, trying to decide where to go next. The guards' boots echoed off the stairs as they climbed behind her, rapidly coming closer, but she didn't recognize anything until she spotted the big desk. She whirled, suddenly remembering where the main doors were, and ran towards them.

Liesel struggled with one of the heavy main doors for a few seconds before noticing that the other door was slightly ajar. Just then, an angry shout from one of the bad men made her jump. "Vatch vere you are going!" Hoping that she hadn't been seen, she clutched the pillow tightly with one arm and leaned her shoulder against the door, pushing it open farther until there was enough space for her to slip through. Once outside, she leaned against the door, closing it behind herself. After all, like Mama always said, she was a good girl, and good girls don't leave doors open.

She looked around for the nice men as she descended the stone steps leading down from the main door of SS headquarters and shivered in the night air. Liesel had only been wearing a thin cotton dress when she and her father were dragged out of their home, and they didn't have time to grab jackets before being thrown into the back of a truck. Late March in Dusseldorf was cold, especially at night, and Liesel's breath formed a white mist in the chill evening. She took a step, almost tripping over part of the pillow, and saw that one corner of it trailed on the ground. She was about to lift up that corner to stop it from getting dirty when the sound of a truck starting caught her attention.

She jumped off of the last step and ran towards the truck, waving her pillow in one hand like a flag and shouting. "Mein Herren! Mein Herren!"

Newkirk and Carter turned to each other in the front seat of the borrowed truck and shared a look.

"It can't be…" The English corporal looked at the side mirror and was flabbergasted to see the little girl hurrying toward them. "It is!"

He turned to Carter, engaged the hand brake, and put his hand on the other man's arm. "Keep the motor runnin', chum."

Carter nodded at Newkirk as the other man climbed out from behind the wheel. "Go get her." He slid over to the driver's side, being careful of his hurt leg as he moved. "Maybe I can't walk too well, but I can still get us outta here." He muttered to himself, tensed his uninjured leg, and rested that foot on the brake pedal. Once he was behind the wheel, he disengaged the hand brake and watched Newkirk's reflection in the side mirror.

Liesel ran towards them, the bottom of her pillow knocking against her legs with each stride. Newkirk was just coming around the side of the truck when he heard a rifle blast. Instinctively, he drew his weapon and looked for the source of the noise, which happened to be Oberscharführer Holtz, who was standing on the steps with his rifle trained on Newkirk.

_That must have been a warning shot. They want us alive… well, too bloody bad for them_.

Holtz had his weapon trained on Newkirk, and within a few seconds he was joined by Schmidt. "Hender hoch. Schnell!"

Hearing that, Carter slammed the truck into reverse, manuevering it so that it was between the SS men and Newkirk.

"Thanks, mate." Newkirk smiled at him before he started looking for Liesel. "Where could she have got to?"

Carter shrugged, keeping an eye on the SS men with the truck's mirrors. "Maybe she got scared and hid…"

Newkirk interrupted him in a shaky voice. "I don't think so, mate."

A grimy pillow was lying in the street. There was a hole in it where some feathers were sticking out, and surrounding the hole was a large and growing red stain. Newkirk could see part of a small arm encircling the pillow, a dainty hand clutching at the fabric, and a small blonde head resting on the cobblestones. The supposed 'warning shot' had found its mark.

Not even thinking about the SS troopers, Newkirk ran forward and knelt beside her, checking for any signs of life. He found none.

"Blimey…" Newkirk shook his head, briefly resting a hand on her shoulder. "I'm sorry, love."

The sound of footsteps running towards the truck brought him back to himself and he glanced at the tiny blood-soaked body, gritting his teeth. "So you buggers like death? 'Ow d'you like this?" He tucked his rifle into his shoulder, sighting along the barrel, and waited for the SS men to come into view.

Carter swallowed, staring at the reflection of Liesel's dead body in the truck's mirror. He shook his head, blinked hard and then tried to get Newkirk's attention. "Buddy, lets just get outta here."

"Sorry, mate." Newkirk didn't bother turning around. He was waiting for the two guards to come around the back of the truck. "Somethin' I gotta do."

Holtz and Schmidt never had a chance. He shot both of them, one after the other, catching both men in the chest, and then moved closer and shot them each a second time to make sure they were dead. He could hear more footsteps coming from inside the building, so Newkirk quickly but tenderly lifted Liesel's body into the back of the truck, letting his rifle hang from its shoulder strap. One she was on board, he went back to Holtz's body and unhooked a couple of grenades from the German's belt. He looked up from doing that just in time to see Captain Keitel and Kommandant Stiefer come out of the main doors, followed by a veritable flood of SS troopers. Newkirk hurried to the front of the truck but instead of climbing into the passenger side, he just stood there.

Stiefer roared "after zem!" The troopers streamed down the stairs, heading for motorcycles and other vehicles with which to give chase.

Apparently, that was just what Newkirk had been waiting for, because he pulled the pins on both grenades.

Carter's eyes went wide, realizing what the Englishman meant to do. "Newkirk, buddy, don't…"

Newkirk shook his head, muttering to Carter "we can't 'ave 'em followin' us..." before hurling the grenades at the staircase full of SS men and shouting "'Ey Fritz, got somethin' for ya."

He jumped into the truck and Carter hit the accelerator. Seconds later, they heard the grenades explode, followed by the sound of a dozen or so men yelling and screaming, some in alarm and some in pain. Newkirk tried to look back at the mess he'd caused, but Carter swerved the truck so that the other man was thrown back into his seat.

"'Ey, easy with that!"

Carter took his eyes off the road to glare at Newkirk. "You didn't have to kill them."

Newkirk screwed up his face for a second, pressing a hand to his side and wincing. "They didn't 'ave ta shoot Erik or 'is daughter, now, did they?"

Carter drove over a pothole and grimaced as the vibrations traveled painfully up his injured leg. "That doesn't make it right."

They were silent for a while before Carter's curiosity got the better of him. "Why did you put her body in the truck?" He glanced over at Newkirk and was surprised to find that the man was misty eyed.

"We'll 'ave Kinch go out with 'er tonight, after we get back." He turned in his seat, lifting up one edge of the canvas flap to take another look at her. The small body lay on the floor of the truck, still holding the pillow. Vibrations from the motion of the truck caused her form to move slightly in a grotesque parody of life. Newkirk twisted back to face the road again, unable to look at her any longer. "She can't be found in camp…"

Carter frowned, taking a turn out of town and onto the North Road, which would take them back to camp through the woods. "Yeah, but why bring her-"

Newkirk cut Carter off with a shout. "So 'er mum can bury 'er!" The shout seemed to have used up all of his anger, and after it he looked drained, closing his eyes and breathing hard. Moments later Carter swerved dangerously, and Newkirk's eyes flew open. He reached over, grabbing hold of the wheel to stop them from running off the road, and put on the hand brake.

The truck screeched to a halt on the dirt road. Carter was bent double over the wheel, nursing his leg and quietly moaning.

Newkirk sighed heavily, climbing out of the truck and walking around the front of it until he stood by Carter's door. "Alright, mate. I'm drivin' us the rest of the way."

He moved so that one of the headlights illuminated his side and tried to asses his injury. As he'd suspected, it was just a graze. The uniform had a five inch tear in it which ran across the bottom of his ribs, and when he pulled the fabric aside, he saw a shallow gash which matched the length and location of the tear.

Carter nodded and started to slide back to the passenger side without looking up. "Thanks. Holy cow… this hurts!"

Newkirk smiled a tiny bit. He'd gotten a look at Carter's leg, and it seemed like just a flesh wound. Painful, but not too serious. Carter had been able to put some weight on it, so it probably wasn't broken, and it didn't seem to be bleeding a dangerous amount.

He shook his head at the sargeant, his smile fading quickly. "It could 'ave been much worse, mate." Newkirk glanced at the back of the truck. "Much worse…"

Carter hung his head, realizing that, horrible as it was to admit to himself, they had actually got off easy. "Yeah…" He kept his eyes screwed shut and dug his fingernails into the truck's upholstery, sucking in a ragged breath but not bothering to look up at Newkirk. "I know…"

Newkirk grunted as he climbed into the driver's seat, disengaged the hand brake and sped off towards Stalag 13.


End file.
